Nicola Cornick - [Bluestocking Brides 01]

by The Notorious Lord

  Cory shot her a hard, unsmiling look. ‘Just because you have made a fool of yourself in front of everyone with Sir John Norton, Rachel, I do not see why you should vent your displeasure on me.’

  Rachel knew that this was what she was doing and the knowledge just made matters worse. She had been expecting something quite different from Cory and she now discovered that she did not want him to revert to acting as her friend. This was foolish, for she was the one who had demanded only the previous day that he should never kiss her again. Standing there on the shore of the Deben, with Cory looking at her as though she were a slightly tiresome little sister, she found that this was not in the least what she really wanted. It seemed to be all that was on offer, however.

  Her voice rose with indignation. ‘I did not make a fool of myself. Sir John was drunk and importunate, but I could quite easily have taken care of myself—’

  ‘Indeed?’ Cory said silkily. He gave her a comprehensive look that brought even more angry colour into her face. ‘It did not look like that to me.’

  ‘You were not there!’

  ‘No, but I saw what happened.’

  ‘Then,’ Rachel said, with childish contrariness, ‘why did you not come to my rescue yourself? Fortunate that Lord Richard was on hand to do what you were reluctant to do yourself!’

  She heard Cory draw a sharp breath. ‘Lord Richard…yes…’ he said slowly. ‘You are playing a dangerous game there, Rachel.’

  Rachel shot him another furious look. She had a stitch in her side from the speed with which Cory had hurried her away from Richard Kestrel, and now she stopped and pressed her hand to it.

  ‘Lord Richard and I are friends,’ she said haughtily. ‘There is no more to it than that.’

  Cory’s expression was frankly disbelieving. ‘Friends? Good God! Having seen how you treat your friends, Rae, he must be honoured to receive such a mark of distinction.’

  Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘I think,’ she said, ‘that you can be the most loathsome man of my acquaintance sometimes, Cory.’

  ‘And that is up against some pretty stiff competition,’ Cory observed. ‘Sir John Norton, James Kestrel…’

  Rachel bit her lip hard to prevent herself from exploding.

  Cory put his arm around her waist and tossed her up on to the seat of a phaeton painted in green and gold with the ducal crest of Kestrel on the side. Tom Bradshaw had been standing beside it with the patient expression of a man who has been trained to wait—and to pretend that he is deaf under all circumstances. Cory took the reins from him.

  ‘Thank you, Bradshaw. You may walk back.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ the valet said resignedly.

  ‘How ungenerous of you,’ Rachel exclaimed, looking back as Cory turned the phaeton on to the road and the luckless Bradshaw started to trudge towards Midwinter Royal. ‘Besides, this is not your phaeton, Cory. Have you stolen it?’

  ‘Do not be ridiculous,’ Cory snapped. ‘I borrowed it from Justin Kestrel.’

  Rachel gave an angry sigh. ‘You need not put yourself to the trouble of taking me home, you know.’

  Cory gave her an unpleasant smile. ‘Believe me, Rae, at the moment the prospect of setting you down by the wayside is an appealing one. Did you get out of bed the wrong side this morning?’

  Rachel’s temper snapped. ‘No, but I wish I had not got out at all! I have had the most intolerably tiresome time of it. Besides, I do not see why you felt the need to offer in the first place. Lord Richard would have been quite happy to escort me.’

  ‘Richard is dining at the Anchor,’ Cory said, ‘whereas I am returning to Midwinter and so may take you up with me instead. I am sorry if you do not like it.’

  Rachel let out an angry sigh. All her accumulated resentment about the wager burst out like a cork exploding from a bottle.

  ‘I do not suppose that it matters whether it is you, or Richard Kestrel, or his brother the Duke who escorts me home! The ladies of the Midwinter villages are interchangeable to you, it seems. Perhaps Sir John Norton is in on your little wager as well, hence the scene by the river?’ Another thought suddenly struck her so forcibly it hurt. ‘Perhaps when you kissed me that night it was part of the same game that you are all playing! I will say this for you all, Cory—you are a bunch of scoundrels who certainly know how to enliven a dull stay in the country!’

  There was a silence so sharp that Rachel could hear her own angry words echoing in her head. She saw Cory’s hands clench on the reins.

  ‘Just what the devil are you talking about, Rachel?’ he said, with deadly calm. ‘What wager is this?’

  ‘Oh, do not pretend not to know,’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘I heard you speaking to Lord Richard at the ball, asking how much flirtation you were expected to undertake as part of Justin Kestrel’s plan—’ She broke off as Cory took one hand off the reins and closed it hard about her wrist. He did not hurt her, but the shock was sufficient to silence her momentarily. She gasped. ‘Ouch! What are you doing?’

  Cory did not reply for a moment. He let her go and Rachel sat rubbing her wrist with her other hand, though it was not in the least bit damaged. Something had changed the tone of their discussion, however. Rachel was forced to admit that in a strange way she had been almost enjoying the slightly childish, irritable squabbling with Cory. But now his face was hard and set and she felt a tremor of apprehension run right through her.

  ‘I am asking you to keep quiet for the time being whilst we are on this road,’ Cory said pleasantly. He shot her a look. ‘I am begging you, in fact.’

  The road was slow and busy with pedestrians and traffic returning from the regatta, but Cory turned the phaeton down a narrow lane where the hedges pressed in and the branches arched overhead to create a green tunnel. Once they were out of sight of the main thoroughfare, he drew to a halt on a sweep of grass in front of a hay barn. He turned to her, his expression stern.

  ‘What did you overhear that night, Rachel?’

  Rachel’s puzzled gaze searched his face. He looked severe and unyielding, and she frowned, all childish squabbles forgotten. ‘What are we doing here? This is not the way to Midwinter Royal—’

  ‘Just answer the question,’ Cory said.

  Rachel jumped at his tone, she knew Cory would insist on a reply. ‘Oh, very well. It is merely as I said. It was near the end of the ball and I had gone out on to the terrace for some fresh air when you and Lord Richard came out of the card room. I heard you saying that when you had agreed to Justin Kestrel’s plan you had had no notion that it would involve such a spirit of self-sacrifice.’ She screwed her face up as she tried to remember his exact words. ‘You made some remark about the amount of flirtation you were obliged to undertake. That was all. What—?’

  Cory was frowning. ‘What were you doing out there, Rae?’

  ‘I told you! I required some fresh air.’

  ‘But when you dropped your handkerchief and I brought it in to you, you denied that you had even seen me, let alone overheard my conversation,’ Cory pointed out.

  Rachel felt her heart lurch. She had forgotten about the handkerchief. ‘So I did,’ she said slowly.

  To her surprise, Cory did not pursue that immediately, but asked a completely different question. ‘Was anybody else with you, Rae?’

  Rachel’s frown deepened. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you certain?’

  ‘Yes, of course! I was quite alone.’

  Cory’s eyes were narrowed on her face. ‘And have you told anyone else about what you heard?’

  ‘No!’ Rachel could feel herself blushing. She looked away, fiddling with the seam of her gloves. ‘I have told no one.’

  ‘Look at me,’ Cory said inexorably. Then, when she raised her head and met his eyes, ‘Are you sure you have not mentioned this to anyone?’

  Rachel gave him a level look. She found that it was important that he believed her, but, given that she had already lied to him, she could understand why he might not trust her.


  ‘No, I told no one. I promise you.’

  ‘Then why are you looking so guilty?’

  Rachel pressed her hands together. ‘Am I? I suppose it is because I lied to you about seeing you on the terrace, and because I did think about telling someone…’ She gave him a defiant look. ‘I wanted to tell Deborah—Mrs Stratton—because she is my friend and I wished to confide.’

  Cory was frowning now. ‘Why did you not?’

  Rachel fidgeted again and settled on a half-truth. She did not wish to admit that it was some residual loyalty to him that had held her silent. She had been disappointed that Cory might be involved in such a low trick and she had not wanted to tell anyone else.

  ‘I do not know,’ she said. ‘I suppose it was because I thought I might have misunderstood what I had heard.’

  ‘And why did you not simply ask me?’ Cory asked, going to the heart of her difficulty. ‘Why did you lie to me and why did you not challenge me over what you had heard? If we are such good friends as you think, why could you not do that?’

  This question was even harder than the first. Rachel knew that not so long ago she would have confronted Cory without hesitation, but those days were gone.

  ‘We always seem to be in dispute these days,’ she said, her voice a little bleak. ‘I did not wish to make it worse.’

  It was not the whole truth, but she did not want to tell Cory how angry she had been with him, nor how she had planned the foolish revenge of the drawings. She watched his face, and felt relief flood her when his expression eased slightly.

  ‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘Well, I may put your mind at rest on one issue at least, Rae. You did misunderstand what you heard.’ A hint of a smile touched his mouth. ‘There is no wager.’

  Rachel stared. ‘No wager? Then what were you talking about with Lord Richard?’

  Cory sighed. ‘I will tell you if you swear not to say a word.’

  Rachel made a little gesture. ‘I promise.’

  ‘You already know that Justin Kestrel and the rest of us are at Midwinter for more than one purpose,’ Cory said. ‘You guessed as much on the very first day that I arrived.’

  Rachel’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—the threat of invasion and you joining the Volunteers, and Lord Richard being an Admiralty man—’

  ‘Precisely,’ Cory said. ‘There is a French spy and their criminal associates at work in the Midwinter villages, Rae. Richard and I—and one or two others—are attempting to unmask them and discover how they operate.’

  Rachel’s eyes opened even wider. This seemed too fanciful to be true. ‘Surely not! Not in sleepy old Midwinter!’

  ‘It is precisely because Midwinter is sleepy that it makes such a wonderful hiding place,’ Cory said, an edge to his voice. ‘And believe me, Rachel, it is not such a quiet place as you think. One man has already died—Jeffrey Maskelyne. That is why this is so serious. The fate of all of us could rest on smoking this person out. And that is why you must keep silent.’

  Rachel’s mind was spinning. ‘But what has that to do with what you said to Richard Kestrel?’

  There was a pause. ‘There are many different ways of gathering intelligence,’ Cory said mildly.

  Rachel’s eyes rounded in astonishment. ‘No! I cannot believe it.’ Her surprise warmed into anger. ‘I cannot believe that you and the Kestrel brothers are making love to the ladies of Midwinter just to get them to tell you all their secrets. That is outrageous. And so underhand! Oh, how dare you?’

  Cory’s smile had deepened. ‘It is a matter of life and death, Rae—’

  Rachel snorted. ‘What absolute rubbish! That is a very poor excuse.’

  ‘Not so,’ Cory said. ‘Besides, there is one thing that you do not know, Rae. The Midwinter spy is a woman.’

  Rachel was so shocked that she fell silent, her outrage forgotten. It seemed scandalous enough that the gentlemen would use such underhand tactics in getting to know the ladies of the Midwinter villages, but that one of those ladies themselves should be a French spy seemed unbelievable. Rachel mentally considered the members of Lady Sally’s reading group and immediately discounted the possibility that any one of them could be a traitor. It was simply not possible. Then a thought came into her head and she became very still. When she looked up at Cory she saw that he was watching her with the ghost of a smile. She knew he had read her thoughts. She caught her breath.

  ‘You suspected me, didn’t you, Cory Newlyn!’ she whispered. ‘You thought that I might be your spy.’

  Cory shook his head. He took her hand in his. ‘Rachel, I can honestly say that I never believed you guilty of such a thing.’

  Rachel stared at him, trying to divine whether or not he was telling the truth. Suddenly she felt cold and afraid; not afraid of Cory’s suspicions, but deeply scared that he might not hold the good opinion of her that she had always taken for granted.

  Cory’s fingers tightened on hers and an urgent note came into his voice.

  ‘Rachel, I promise you…I never thought that.’

  Rachel swallowed an unexpected lump in her throat. She felt a ridiculous urge to burst into tears. ‘Are you sure?’ Her voice sounded very small.

  ‘I swear it.’ There was tenderness in Cory’s voice now. ‘Good God, Rachel, how could you think such a thing? We have known each other this age. Why do you think that I am trusting you now? It is only because I know I can trust you and that you would never betray the secret.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Rachel said. She felt a little better. ‘I am glad that I still hold your good opinion, Cory, for sometimes I think that I do not know you very well at all.’

  She heard Cory sigh. ‘I confess that you did give me a bad moment when you lied about being out on the terrace.’

  Rachel stifled a small giggle. ‘I am sorry. I did not realise it would make you suspect me, or I should have spoken up at once.’

  ‘I still do not understand why you did it,’ Cory said.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Rachel said again. ‘I was confused by what I had heard and…’ she hesitated ‘…rather angry with you as well.’

  It seemed as though Cory was waiting for her to say more, but when she did not speak, he sighed and let go of her hand. ‘I suppose that I can understand that,’ he said. ‘God knows, I have been doing enough covert things to arouse anybody’s suspicions—’

  Rachel froze. ‘The books!’ she said, her voice warming into anger again, ‘You said that Maskelyne was the man who died. That must mean that he was part of the Duke of Kestrel’s counter-spying plan.’ She turned her angry gaze on Cory again. ‘I suppose that when I found you in the stables that time you were checking that Maskelyne’s books did not contain a clue. Yet you told me you were looking for clues to the Midwinter Treasure! You lied to me!’

  ‘No, I did not,’ Cory said mildly.

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I said nothing. You were the one who made the assumption that I was in the stables to try and steal a march on you in the hunt for the treasure.’

  Rachel felt as though she was about to burst with indignation. ‘But you let me carry on believing it!’

  ‘Of course. I did not wish you to become suspicious and possibly put yourself in danger.’

  Rachel frowned. ‘You did not correct my false assumption. There is some deceit in that.’

  ‘Rachel,’ Cory said, ‘we have just been discussing you telling me a direct lie about your presence on the terrace at the ball. I do not think that you are in a position to haul me over the coals for deceit.’

  Rachel had the grace to feel slightly ashamed. ‘I suppose not. This whole matter smacks of deception, if the truth be told.’

  ‘Spying usually does,’ Cory pointed out. ‘It is an ugly business.’

  Rachel was still sorting the information in her head, assessing and re-assessing all the things that had happened, thinking of Cory’s behaviour. ‘When you and Richard Kestrel came to Saltires that afternoon,’ she said, ‘what was your purpose there? For surely
you had one…’

  ‘You require us to have more of a purpose than simply to flirt with the ladies of the reading group?’ Cory asked mockingly.

  Rachel studied his face. ‘Yes, I do.’ She waved a hand about in agitation. ‘You are doing it again—trying to encourage me to make assumptions so that you do not have to answer my questions!’

  Cory possessed himself of her hand again and gave her a smile that made her feel quite weak. ‘I assure you that I had no intention of deliberately misleading you again,’ he said. ‘The truth is that someone took a shot at me on my way home from Midwinter Royal that night, Rachel. When we came to the reading group the following day, it was with the intention of discovering who it had been.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rachel stared at Cory in utter disbelief. There was a singing in her ears and she could almost feel the colour draining from her face. Cory was watching her with a mixture of concern and speculation as he took in her distress. He looked exactly the same to her and yet somehow her perspective had shifted one final time, the pieces clicking into place with the neat precision of a wooden puzzle. Rachel knew then that if she ever lost him she would feel wrenched in two, as though a most fundamental part of her was missing. She felt shocked and dazed and terrified. Then she felt angry.

  ‘Someone shot at you?’ she whispered. She freed her hand from Cory’s grasp and thumped him ineffectually on the chest. ‘Someone shot at you, Cory Newlyn, and you sit there telling me about it weeks later, as though you are relating an incident at a garden party? Good God, I knew that you had a reputation for coolness, but this is beyond anything!’

  She was startled to see that she was shaking. She put her hands up to her face briefly, then sat back, blinking. Someone had shot at Cory. Someone had tried to kill him. Nothing that he had told her up to this point had made anything like the impact on her that that simple sentence had done. She felt shaken to the core.

  She saw something change in Cory’s face then and he pulled her into his arms and held her close. With a muttered imprecation he loosened the ribbons of her bonnet, pushing it back so that he could rest his cheek against hers. One hand stroked her hair. He was murmuring soothing words and the combination of his voice and the gentling of his hands steadied her. It felt very right to be in his arms and safety and comfort flooded through her. The tears that threatened her receded a little.